


They Left

by leadernovaandthemacabre



Series: A Flock of Doves [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood, Consent Play, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Humiliation, Langst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Multi, Public Sex, Unhappy Ending, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 05:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leadernovaandthemacabre/pseuds/leadernovaandthemacabre
Summary: A scene goes awry.Please heed the tags.





	They Left

**Author's Note:**

> This is an imperfect work, but I keep it up because I like the comments.

Lance’s feet were swept beneath him. The world lurched, his stomach followed, then his chest and belly and cheek slammed into the training mat. One arm was wrangled behind him painfully, leaving his free arm to scrabble to no avail. His feet flailed, but they only beat air. He breathed between nausea and the dull throbbing ache in his skin.

A knee dug into his lower back, the unforgiving straight of a shin rested on his ass and Lance swallowed traitorous butterflies when he heard Keith scoff on the other side of the deck.

“Alright, you got me,” Lance dressed his embarrassment in sarcasm. “Ha-ha. Thanks for handing my ass to me.”

“Anytime,” Shiro chuckled.

Lance assumed that was the end of it. But he was not released.

“Ah. Shiro?”

“Yes, Lance.”

“Mind letting me up buddy?”

“Do you yield?”

He huffed, “I kinda thought that was obvious?”

“Say that you yield.”

Keith, out of Lance’s line of sight, chuckled, and Lance’s confidence and bravado faltered as a result. Embarrassed, he turned his nose and mouth into the mat. “C’mon, lemmie up.”

Shiro’s hold on his wrist flexed as though telling Lance to remember his place. “I can’t hear you. What was that?”

“I think he enjoys being under you,” Keith called, voice low and sated and mean.

Lance’s blood and skin ran hot in a flash. “ _I do not!”_

“Then yield.”

Lance kicked, “Fuck you guys, this isn’t funny. Let me up.”

Shiro’s hand tightened. He kept Lance’s flailing body down with minor adjustment. “Say that you yield, Lance.”

“ _Fine, dammit—I yield! Let me go!”_

“Dirty mouth.”

Heavy ice encased Lance’s guts. Shiro sounded…displeased. And being at the mercy of someone strong and displeased…

“…Shiro let me go. _Please.”_

“Better,” Shiro said, adjusting again, “but still not very nice.”

Keith laughed, and Lance pressed his face into the ground. His sores pulsed hotly in time with his heartbeat and the burn on his chin and knees were glowing in his mind.

They were not in paladin armor. They were in Altean training suits, not dissimilar to that of the princess, albeit showing more arm and leg out of skinship. The end result were these flattering dark suits that resolved Lance’s internal question on what quads looked like when Shiro did his squats that morning. They resolved his question of Keith’s pecs post-Quantum Abyss when they exchanged blows an hour earlier.

He’d looked and wondered how their muscle and skin would give beneath his hands or loins, yes. But he didn’t imagine being scared, penned, too tired to flip his superior on his ass.

“Look at him,” Keith’s jubilant jeering had come closer. “He’s licking the floor.”

“Shut up, Keith.”

“What a dirty mouth,” Keith touched his hair and he snapped away.

“ _Fuck off!”_

Keith grabbed his hair and pressed him into the ground. It didn’t hurt, but it could. Lance huffed, breathing loud and shallow. His mouth and eyes and nose had gone red and wet with rage and humiliation.

“Shut up, you sick fuck. You think you have a say when you’re eating off the ground, getting hard while Shiro was kicking your ass? Yeah, I saw you. That’s why you went down so easy. Too preoccupied thinking with your dick.”

Lance shut his eyes, trying to tune him out.

“We can cure that perversion of yours.” And his hands left Lance’s hair—thank god—and his hand attacked the hem of his shirt and pulled it up to his scapula. Lance bucked and got four long nails tearing fire up his back for the trouble. He called out.

“Sssh,” Shiro smoothed above him, and his hips rocked in a telling way. Lance panicked again and with more clarity about what was about to occur. “Stop struggling. Stop struggling and we might even make you feel good.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? To feel good? Then again you get off watching Shiro take a piss. Fucking nasty.”

“Shut up,” but Lance’s voice had long since lost its heat. It had turned to upset water.

“Do you always go after people who don’t want you?”

“Stop it.”

“Allura. Shiro. Me.”

“ _Stop.”_

“So fucking desperate for any sort of validation that you’d stoop to getting beat up.” And he dug his thumb into Lance’s mouth, right where he had split his lip during his spar with Keith. He pulled away, but could only move so much, and his shriek of protest was animalistic.

Lance called out in protest once when fingers pulled down on his shorts, baring his ass to the world.

“Got anything to say before Shiro gives you exactly what you want?”

Lance hissed, “This isn’t what I want.”

Keith scraped his nails up Lance’s back again but they felt sharper. They dug _in—_ Lance shouted into the mat, coughed, and felt something well up near the crosshatching on his back. He was bleeding. Keith detracted his claws and cut into him.

Then Keith straddled Lance’s head without sitting on him, put one knee on either side, and kept Lance bound while Shiro preoccupied himself with Lance’s ass. “He’s opened already.”

Delighted, “You worked yourself open for us?”

_“No.”_

“You did!” Keith laughed and dug his nails into Lance’s side. “You should thank Shiro for dirtying his dick in your hole.”

Lance swallowed a sob.

“Say thank you.”

Lance coughed out, “ _Thank you thank you Shiro thank you,”_ because Keith put more pressure. He was bleeding he was bleeding he was bleeding.

“You’re welcome.” And Shiro forced the head in, and Lance quaked under the burn, then felt himself tremble harder as more and more and _more_ kept filling him, hurting him a little. Ramrod hard and white hot, Lance kept himself still as he could manage while the man he loved raped him.

Then Shiro moved, and Lance cried.

“How does he feel Shiro?”

“Hurts a little.”

“Fucking hell. Can’t even be a proper slut? What the fuck are you good for?”

Lance turned his face to the ground. He felt a hand on the back of his head, fingers tipped in claws. “Just cleaning the floor with your tongue, huh? Can’t even fly a Lion, can’t be a good whore, why the fuck are you here?”

Lance sobbed.

Shiro moved a little faster and Lance squealed.

Shiro laughed, “He sounds like an animal.”

“He _is_ an animal.”

Lance’s gasps were winded and harsh and interspersed by him crying. Shiro fucked into him fucked into him, held him like an oversized fleshlight, and when Lance was wondering why they’d gone so quiet he heard them _kissing_ out of his field of sight.

That, if nothing else, made him cry harder.

He’d been indifferent when they got together. After Lotor and Allura, and Hunk and Pidge, he treated the new power couple with indifferent resignation. Hanging back with Coran had become the most he got out of socializing apart from diplomatic meetings, so he was a little hungry for attention yes, and he was a little overzealous when it came to buttering up diplomats. He was a little transparent when he looked at his friends.

He wanted what they _had_ , not necessarily wanted them.

But his truth didn’t matter when he was getting railed in public with the blasé treatment one might wash their hands.

Lance’s body shook out of his control. He kept his head down and he was dizzy. He was in a multitude of hurts.

Abruptly, a pressure abated.

“Lance?”

“Lance? Is he alright?”

“Lance, you okay? Talk to us buddy.”

He was released and turned on his side. “I’m alright,” he lifted his hand and felt someone else thread their fingers through it.

“You look out of it.”

“I’d feel better if we skip to aftercare for now.”

Lance started to protest but Shiro cut him off: “Please, Lance. We don’t like how you’re looking.”

Lance relented.

Shiro carried him, but they were both quiet until they got to the bedroom. Then Keith stripped him, set him in the tub and treated his cuts and sealed them in water resistant bandages before Shiro bathed him. Lance was alert by then, but still subdued.

“Talk to us,” Shiro said softly, running fingers through his hair. “You’re hurting.”

“Isn’t that the point of this?”

“Not like this,” Keith inputted with a little heat. “We’d _never_ harm you, Lance. And you should never feel that way when we do this.”

Shiro, ever tactile, touched his jaw, his neck, his cheek. “Did we do something that you didn’t like?”

Lance was hesitant. “…yes.”

“What is it?”

“…it hit too close to home, I guess. You guys…said a lot of stuff that’s true.”

Shiro, distinctly horrified, snapped to Keith for help.

Keith wore a grave expression. “Let’s get you dried off and in bed where we can talk some more. Does that sound okay?”

Lance nodded. In time they were reclining on a bed of pillows and each other, Lance properly sandwiched and all of them facing a holovid. Lance requested a visual distraction. His thumb worked in erratic circles on Shiro’s knuckles.

Lance rested his head on Keith’s shoulder, beneath his chin. He felt his hands in his hair and Shiro’s breath on his back.

“Whenever you’re ready,” someone said.

Lance didn’t speak.


End file.
